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Sancho Villa: Employee Benefits

January 22, 2011

Sancho Villa hopped off the back of the pick-up truck with the rest of the workers. He looked around the remote, dirt road.

“Is this where we go for the job interview?” Sancho asked a cruda-saturated passenger.

“Job interview?” He shrugged, “Eh, orale.”

Sancho re-adjusted his polyester, middle school-length tie, snatched some shoe polish out of his pocket and smeared a glob on his hair and bushy, Pancho Villa mustache.

He glanced at his reflection through the pick-up’s side mirror and grinned. He looked professional, a go-getter, ready to take on the world…he was on fiyah!

A burly, blue-eyed man carrying a nasty disposition appeared. Potential employees gathered around. Sancho Villa raced to the head of the pack.

A good first impression was not only required, it was medically necessary—at least that’s what Sancho’s Tia told the mailman after their pitbull attacked him… again.

“I need a hole digger.” Blue Eyes simulated a pretend-shovel to the ground move. “Twenty dollars a day, ten hours a day, three weeks work. I’ll need eight men.” He followed each job requirement with fingers-in-the-air signals. Homeboy spoke bilingual.

All fifteen men raised their hands. Except Sancho.

Blue Eyes pointed to chosen job applicants.

“Excuse me,” Sancho said.

Blue eyes ignored him.

“Excuse me, Señor, I have a question.”

Blue Eyes turned, stared him at him like a rodent chewing on his New York steak.

“Does the company provide lunch or do we bring our own?”

Blue Eyes stared him down some more.

“Do we get Wi Fi out there? I gotta check my Facebook.”

Blue Eyes squinted a la Clint Eastwood.

“My Facebook novia is very jealous.”

Blue Eyes hesitated, snarled. “No. No. And NO.”

“Oh” Sancho rubbed his chin, picked at his mustache. “That could be a problem.”

The workers mumbled. Blue Eyes’ jaw percolated.

“Do you have a dental plan?”

The workers nodded, mumbled some more. A worker pointed to his naked, toothless gums.

“Si, dientes.”

“Nnnnoooo,” Blue Eyes growled.

“How about a 401(k)?”  Blue Eyes shook his head.

“Free Day Care?” Shook his head again.

“Company Uniforms?” Another shake, but it looked more like a convulsion.

“Do we get Cinco de Mayo off?”


Suddenly, Blue Eyes flushed crimson red—his entire face instantly color-coordinated with his neck.  Veins popped like volcanic eruptions, he clutched his chest, dropped to one knee…

“Are you okay?” Sancho asked.

Blue Eyes grunted, words imprisoned within his lips. He gasped, choked until he passed out, landing face-down on the dirt road. A dust swirl sprinkled the air.

The workers circled unmoving Blue Eyes, cocked their heads in wonder.

“Oh damn,” Sancho said, “I forgot to ask about the medical plan.”

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